


breaking routine

by pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Emotional Porn, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29760870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: I don’t know what’s gotten into Baz lately, but whatever it is, it’s a blessing in disguise. Or whatever the saying is.Usually I have to beg for Baz to touch me like this, and not the fun, sexy begging either.I was a terrible boyfriend.But we made it. I mean, we’re still here. Together.--AKA, The One With Emotions and Feelings and Shit
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 8
Kudos: 130





	breaking routine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knitbelove (ladymac111)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymac111/gifts).



> this is something quick and short written for knitbelove to try to get my head back into writing - i just jumped into a server and asked for prompts to break my writers block and they came swinging in with this idea and i'm so glad 
> 
> thank you kbl 💙
> 
> and i hope everyone else enjoys this lil' bit of smut as well

**SIMON**

I don’t know what’s gotten into Baz lately, but whatever it is, it’s a blessing in disguise. Or whatever the saying is.

Usually I have to beg for Baz to touch me like this, and not the fun, sexy begging either. Which, I mean, I get it. We were on really rocky terrain for a good part of our relationship, and the beginning part at that. I was never the best at vocalizing my needs, I just wanted to be what I thought Baz deserved — even if I wasn’t ready for it. And I took some of it out on him. I acted out of fear — both of him and of _losing_ him.

So — I was a _terrible_ boyfriend. And Baz was walking on as many eggshells as I was. Basically, it sucked.

But we made it. I mean, we’re still here. Together.

And Baz is on my bed, _in_ my bed, with his hand in my trousers and his tongue down my throat. And I’m pressing closer to him, gripping his shoulder so tightly I’d surely leave a bruise if he were an ordinary human.

His knuckles brush over my cock, hard and wanting, still trapped in these godforsaken briefs. I moan and rock into the touch.

Baz pulls back to look me in the eyes, still always checking in and making sure I’m okay every step of the way. I nod before he can ask, and I catch a glimpse of a smile before he’s kissing me again, sucking on my lip and pushing my trousers and pants down my hips.

I’ve been naked with Baz before, many times now. I’ve jerked him off, and even given him a blowie once. But he’s never really touched me. Not for lack of wanting; he offered to reciprocate every time — but I wasn’t ready. I like doing things for him, and I like getting off _with_ him, but I’ve never felt ready for… that. For _this_ , for Baz’s full attention trained on my cock, lips hanging open as he looks down between us.

My face is burning from embarrassment. I almost want to call the whole thing off, just push him down and get him off instead. Then, when he’s reached ecstasy and is an incomprehensible mess in the sheets, I’d quickly wank myself and join him in orgasmic bliss.

I’m really good at wanking.

I’m not sure I’m so good at the actual… _sex_ sex stuff. Well, I’m at least decent, ‘cause Baz always seems to enjoy it.

“Are you still okay with this?” Baz asks, voice soft and full of love and concern. He’s not watching my prick anymore; he’s looking at me — my _face_.

And that’s why I find myself nodding again. Because as much as I feel like crawling out of my skin, I _do_ want this. And I know that if I say stop, he will. Without hesitation.

I know I’m safe here, no matter how nervous I am. I still don’t know if I’m quite ready for this, but I figure it’s one of those things you might not know until you try. So. I may as well try here, now, with someone whose only intentions are to love me and make me feel good. With someone I love and trust.

I nod again and lean forward, just enough to brush our lips together. The softest kiss filled with so much need, so much _want_.

Baz gets it.

He glances down again and I try to push away my embarrassment at being so exposed.

_It’s not the first time, Simon. And I’m sure it won’t be the last._

His fingers are cool when they wrap around me — they feel even larger than I know them to be now, as he takes me into his hand. I hiss at the cold touch to my dick, but rub my hand over Baz’s shoulder to tell him it’s okay before he can even ask.

It feels kind of weird to have another bloke’s hand on my cock. No one’s touched me here before, only me. It’s not different than if he were holding my arm — but at the same time it’s _so_ different because it feels like every nerve ending is on fire.

He’s gentle as he strokes me, experimenting with pressure and rhythm. That’s where it’s weirder still, to be touched _there_ and… not know what to expect. I remember growing up, some of the older lads in the homes would tell us to sit on our hand before wanking. Something about a ‘phantom hand’? I don't know, but apparently it was supposed to feel like someone else was pulling you off because you’d let your hand go numb before touching yourself. It feels different, yeah, but it didn't feel anything like _this_.

When I did that I ultimately still knew the endgame. I knew what I was going to do, what to expect. And I knew what felt good. I knew my body, to an extent, and I felt present and part of the whole experience.

Not to say I don’t feel part of the moment with Baz… but I feel less sure of the situation. Obviously the endgame here is the same — I’m going to come. But I don’t know how he’s planning to get me there. When he twists his wrist I gasp, caught by surprise, which once again reminds me that I’m not in control of his movement. That Baz is, and he’s _looking_ at me, all exposed and vulnerable. I’m at his will, his mercy.

And he’s been stroking me for what feels like hours, is probably only a few minutes, and I’ve still not come. It feels _good_ , that’s for sure. And I don’t think I’m _actually_ scared, but I keep getting caught up in my own head.

Baz moves over me faster and I grunt, pushing into his hand a bit.

I feel stuck. Like Baz keeps pushing me up but I’m not _moving_ , something pulls me back down.

I’ve still not _come_.

When I said I’m really good at wanking I meant it. Usually I can get myself off before Baz is finished riding out his own orgasm.

And I like that; it means he’s not focused on me. But right now he _is_. And it’s bloody embarrassing for some reason. It’s not like this is _new_. I keep reminding myself that he’s seen this, we’ve gotten off together — hell, even non-sexually, he’s seen me at my actual, literal worsts.

But sometimes I’m not sure how long this will last.

What if he’s not as into this handy as I am? Is this a chore for him? Maybe we should’ve just stuck to our usual routine. Being vulnerable like this in front of him opens the door for him possibly _not_ wanting this.

Not wanting _me_.

Which, on one hand, feels ridiculous. He _says_ he wants me all the time. He practically begged me for this, whispering about how much he wanted to touch me while we were on the phone last night.

But what if it’s not true?

“Simon,” Baz murmurs, and I realize I’ve had my eyes squeezed shut this entire time. My face almost hurts from how hard I’ve held them closed.

I open them now, and there’s Baz. His hair is loose and falling around his face, head tilted down and attention focused on his hand moving over me. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, which are still hanging open. (If it were me he’d have called me a ‘mouth breather’ by now, but on him it’s just… sexy as _fuck_.)

Then he turns his face up to me and I can really see how affected he is. His pupils are dark and blocking out his storm grey irises. He’s breathing heavily, and I realize after a moment that I am, now, too. And I don’t miss the bulge in his own pants.

You can’t make _that_ up. Whether I can trust his words or not, I _know_ his face. I can trust his eyes.

He’s getting off on this just as much as me — which shouldn’t come as a surprise.

A moan slips past my lips and Baz moves closer, stroking me faster, until groans and heavy pants are being torn from my chest.

“Fuck, Simon,” Baz grunts. “I love you.”

And I’m done for.

I spill over Baz’s fist, my orgasm hitting me suddenly and draining every drop of pleasure and energy I have. Baz presses a kiss to my cheek as he works me through it — then kisses my lips when he lets me go.

I feel like I’m floating in a haze, barely registering Baz grabbing his wand or spelling us both clean. He gathers me into his arms and places kisses over my temples, cheeks, eyes. Everywhere he can reach.

“Was that okay?” He asks, and I _scoff_. Because of-fucking- _course_ that was okay. He laughs when I tell him that, then kisses me again.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr: @pipsqueakparker


End file.
